


Cicada Rhythms

by iphus



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Monster Hunters, Monsters, Terato, Teratophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-14 17:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15393666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iphus/pseuds/iphus
Summary: "Otis was unfortunate enough to be born into a family of proud monster slayers with a long, long, so very long history. Name any of the great slayers and he was probably somehow related to them. He was descended from one of the men who formed the Monster Hunting Alliance..."A young monster hunter may or may not fall in love with a monster. Oh yeah, and there's that whole business about the biggest monster invasion the world has seen in years.





	1. Otis

**Author's Note:**

> Warning(s): Blood, Gore

If Otis lived a normal life, he would run away from monsters, would’ve been allowed to fear the non-existent monsters in the closet and under the bed, would listen to tales of monster slayers with awe and be thankful that he wasn’t one of them; but to his displeasure, Otis _was_ one of the monster slayers. He didn’t have the luxury of asking his parents to look under the bed when he was a child, asking them to scare the monster away. If he feared the monster under the bed, his father would stand in the bedroom doorway while Otis checked under the bed himself. Nothing but dust bunnies and forgotten toys. Maybe a missing sock.

A fear of monsters was rational. A fear of a non-existent monster was childish, and he would need to learn how to look for signs of real monsters. Real monsters didn’t cower under beds. They were bloodthirsty and would kill in a second.

The lesson never helped Otis sleep any better at night. He certainly didn’t sleep better after he saw a man shredded by a monster’s talons, but that’s a story for another time.

Otis was unfortunate enough to be born into a family of proud monster slayers with a long, long, so very long history. Name any of the great slayers and he was probably somehow related to them. He was descended from one of the men who formed the Monster Hunting Alliance (which in Otis’ opinion was a very boring name; if you’re going to create a badass society, the least you could do is give it a cool name, preferably with a cool acronym to match). The alliance was created, in the Middle Ages – seriously that’s how far back Otis’ lineage of monster slaying went – by a handful of knights. Over the past couple centuries, M.H.A. went global. There were monster slaying societies all over the world, and over time, they started working together, sharing traditions, legends, and knowledge. They remained independent of any government; their purpose was to protect the earth from monsters, not get involved in politics.

And that’s how Otis ended up trekking through a forest alone on a nice late-summer day, looking for signs of monsters, instead of spending time with college friends at a nearby festival. Twenty years old and not only was Otis under the control of his parents, he was under the control of a whole freakin’ monster hunting alliance. _As a hunter, you’ll have to miss out on social gatherings for the greater good_. Okay, great, but what if he didn’t want to be a hunter? Not to mention, by all estimated accounts, the monsters weren’t due for another three months at least. So, he was missing the festival for nothing.

“This is good practice,” Otis mumbled to himself, mocking his father’s words. “There will be other festivals. Neh-neh-neh.”

He was pretty sure this was punishment for staying out past curfew last weekend. Which was ridiculous. Otis was _twenty_. Shouldn’t he get to decide his own curfew?

He sighed, swinging his spear beside him. The blade cleanly sliced off the branch of a shrub. He was supposed to be looking for anything from tracks to bent branches to mutilated animal carcasses. But, there was _nothing_. Because monsters weren’t due for another three months. And this was a waste of time.

The lack of monsters was why Otis was tracking on his own. Normally, hunters would track in groups. But, monsters weren’t expected yet, and especially not in this area. There was a gate nearby, but it had been decades since it was fully used. A few monsters trickled through every cycle, making for easy practice for young hunters. It wasn’t a main entrance though, so not much effort was put into looking after it. Which was just further proof that this was punishment for staying out past curfew.

If he went back home now, he’d get told off for not looking carefully enough. Otis pulled his backpack off his shoulders and slumped against a tree, crossing his legs like a pretzel. He was sure he wasn’t going to find anything, so he might as well spend his time doing something productive. He pulled out a book and a Ziploc bag of baby carrots. The book was about monster biology. Yeah, Otis didn’t like monster hunting, but that didn’t mean he didn’t find monsters interesting.

Quickly engrossed in a chapter about monster anatomy, Otis didn’t hear the shuffling and snorting right away. The loud crash of a tree branch made him jump and look around. Fully alert, Otis shoved his book and food in his bag and picked up his spear, moving as quietly as possible. He listened. It took him only a second to figure out from which direction the noise was coming. He turned and faced a cluster trees, listening, waiting.

Whatever was hidden in the shadows was big; Otis could tell that much from the sound. Fallen branches and leaves crunched under large feet. Snuffling and snorting echoed through the woods. Otis could feel his heart in his throat. Was there a way he could get away? Maybe climb a tree? He looked around desperately. Everything would have to work in his favor: the sound of his movements, the direction of the wind, the monster keeping its eyes in a different direction. Otis hated this. He _hated_ this.

Steeling himself for whatever came next, Otis planned an escape. He hadn’t had a chance to move when suddenly the beast looked up, red eyes gleaming. It had moved closer and Otis could see the outline of its body, could see it see him and bend into a crouch. Holy fuck.

The thing was enormous. If Otis could run faster than any man, he still wouldn’t be able to outrun this beast. Its strides were so huge, it could overtake him at a leisurely pace. As it stalked closer, Otis sucked in a sharp breath. It was the size of a school bus at least. Wider than two school buses parked next to each other. And the teeth. The fangs were nearly the size of Otis.

There were many times in his short career of monster hunting that Otis thought he was going to die. But now, he knew. He knew he was going to die. There was no way in hell Otis could survive a run-in with a monster this big. Otis had heard stories about people taking down enormous monsters single-handedly, but like weathered fisherman recounting their most extreme catch, the people who told those stories were exaggerating. And if they weren’t exaggerating, they were _nuts_. They were the monster hunters who didn’t know what fear was and showed off their missing fingers like badges. Otis liked his fingers! He’d really prefer to keep them. In fact, he liked all his appendages and wanted them to remain attached. He was not a fearless, half-mad hunter who could look in the face of death and let out a battle cry. He was a college student who hated monster hunting and if he hadn’t gone not too long ago, he’d be peeing his pants from fear.

Time seemed to slow as the beast’s muscles coiled to spring. Suddenly, Otis didn’t feel so afraid. Just tired. Like he’d gone his whole life without sleeping. He hadn’t really wanted to die this young, but if he didn’t have a choice in the matter, he might as well go out strong. He said a prayer to whatever god was out there and stepped into a defensive stance. Yeah, he was gonna die, but he might as well try to get a few hits in on his way out.

The monster leapt into the air and Otis sidestepped and thrust his spear. The monster was cat like, an enormous sabertooth tiger. An enormous sabertooth tiger with natural armor on it’s back. And a barbed tail. And huge fucking claws. Otis’ spear caught the monster in it’s front leg. It really wasn’t pleased by being stabbed and let out an angry, howling growl. Otis’ blood ran cold.

There were monster hunters, like his father, who got a thrill out of the hunt. Otis never got that thrill. He felt sick. The whole time. He felt sick with uneasy anticipation when he and a group of hunters went tracking. He felt sick with adrenaline and fear when the fight started. And then he felt sick looking at the mangled, bloody carcass of a recently killed monster. A few times he retched, much to the amusement of his fellow hunters.

As the monster gnashed its fangs, Otis felt like he wasn’t in his body anymore. He was watching this small, dumbass human try to take on a colossal beast. There was no way that human was making it through this. So why was he even trying? He was good at fighting. The strikes from his spears kept landing. But, he was doing this on his own, with no backup, and definitely not with the proper weapon for a beast this size. Poor, foolish boy.

Otis moved with muscle memory, using his years of training to give the monster as many wounds as he could before it inevitably killed him. Maybe his dad would be proud of him for at least weakening the monster. Would they find his body when he died? Would there be a body left? Or would there just be blood, his spear, and the backpack that still sat at the base of a tree.

The monster got fed up with its human toy, wanting the fight to end so it could have its meal. It swiped at Otis. Otis gasped. His entire body went up in flames. Burning from his torso to his limbs. The claws of the monster tore through his shirt and tore open his flesh. If Otis had been any closer, that swipe would’ve been enough to kill him. Easily. The wound screamed and burned and bled so much. So much blood. Otis was on his back. His head was spinning. He tasted blood and bile.

Looking up at the sky through the tree branches, Otis prayed his father would be proud. With the last of his strength, he gripped his spear tight and thrust upward, right as the beast came down on him.

Too his surprise and horror, the beast didn’t kill him with another clean swipe. Instead, a torrent of black blood exploded from its neck and it let out a strangled cry. The blood spattered against Otis, mixing with his own blood that coated his entire torso. He’d managed to hit a major artery. Dazed, he pulled his spear out of the creature’s neck. More blood drenched him, coating him in thick black liquid. If he hadn’t been out of his mind and delirious, he would be gagging and probably puking.

The creature tumbled to its side, still yowling. Blood poured from its neck and its mouth and the various wounds Otis had inflicted. Horrorstruck, Otis did his best to move away, but the attempt set him on fire again. He cried out and clenched his fists. Slowly, he dragged himself away from the monster. He didn’t want to die so close to it. He didn’t want to watch it writhe or hear its blood pour out beside him.

He got himself to the base of the tree where his backpack was and then gave up. He lay flat on his back. The sky was so beautiful and blue. It was mocking him. The sky had an eternity ahead of it. An eternity to look beautiful. Otis had minutes, and he certainly wasn’t beautiful. The black blood of the monster covered him head to toe, matting in his hair, dripping down his face. Otis could taste it, metallic-y, bitter, and thick.

The wound on his torso didn’t hurt as much. _I’m going into shock_ , he thought. He wondered if all his organs were intact. Or even still inside him. Not that it mattered. He still wondered.

Otis closed his eyes, waiting for death to claim him, savoring his last moments on earth in peace. He was uncomfortable and in pain and death seemed like a really great option right now.

There was a rustling. A rustling that was insistent enough to pull Otis from his fog. Holy fuck. Was the monster alive? Whimpering from pain, Otis looked over to the spot where he fatally wounded the monster. It was still there, a heap of fur in a pool of blood. Unmoving. Maybe Otis was hearing things.

The rustling persisted and drew closer. No way. No fucking way. There was no possible way that another monster was in this area. Otis couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t believe it.

“Very funny, God. Please let me die now,” Otis said, closing his eyes again.

The rustling moved closer. And then Otis felt hot breath on his face. If he was a little less dead right now, he would be absolutely terrified. Instead, he slowly opened his eyes. Great. There was indeed another monster. There was blood in Otis’ vision and his head was foggy, so he couldn’t make out the details, but it was definitely a monster.

“You here to eat me?” Otis said. He laughed and then moaned as pain erupted in his chest. This was dumb and comical. Kill one monster, eaten by another.

The monster made a chirping noise similar to a frog’s, but deeper and throatier. It opened its mouth to reveal a large tongue, which it used to lick Otis’ face.

“Ugh,” Otis said. He closed his eyes again.

This was a rather undignified way to die, but Otis would take anything right now. Just as long as he could stop the pain and be at peace. The slurping noises the creature made as it cleaned away the blood covering Otis were disgusting and obnoxious.

“You couldn’t let me die in peace?” Otis asked. Whatever god or entity was out there didn’t answer.

The creature tore away what remained of Otis’ shirt. Otis didn’t notice, but it ripped it away carefully, as if it was trying not to hurt him. And then it licked Otis’ wounds and Otis groaned. He hurt. Everything hurt.

“Great,” Otis grumbled. “A monster that likes to play with it’s food. Couldn’t you kill me and then do this whole licking thing? What’s next? You’re gonna boil me alive?”

The monster chirped again. With a hand that Otis could barely see through his clouded vision, the creature reached out and touched Otis’ wound. The pain was unbearable. Excruciating. He was being set on fire and then forced to bathe in a lake of knives. Torturous. His wail made the monster jump back. Otis couldn’t see anything anymore. He wasn’t sure if his eyes were open. There was a caress against his torso and another chirp.

“Huuuuuurrrtt?” was the last thing Otis heard.


	2. Otis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): mentions of blood/gore

Fleeting moments of consciousness flitted across Otis’ mind. Images of starry blues and dark navies. Deep, rich colors of the night sky. Flashes of gold. Long limbs, gentle fingers. Pressure on his torso. Sharp pains. More colors. More gold.

When he woke up from the muddled dreams, he didn’t know where he was. Helpless fear struck him. A heavy pain held him down, radiating from his torso to his limbs. Smooth rock surrounded him, flickering orange from the light of a fire, shadows dancing between the flames. A roomy cave. As he familiarized himself with the what little he could see, he relaxed. He still didn’t know where he was, but at least he knew it was a cave.

Though he was flat on the floor, there wasn’t rock or dirt directly beneath him. With his arms at his sides, Otis ran his fingers through soft fur. The same softness touched his cheek as he turned his head, wanting to see more of the cave. He started. Pain shot through him.

A monster sat on the other side of the fire, its short fur a deep navy. The bridge of its nose was a brilliant electric blue. Gold flecks marked the blue. Its eyes appeared to be gold as well, but something distorted parts of its face. A mask? A mask like textured glass, rounded to fit the shape of its head, unevenly carved but a work of art nonetheless.

Two horns grew from its head. Ridges spiraled from the bases to the tips, making the horns not quite straight as they pointed back. The bases of the horns were deep navy, like its fur, and the bodies of the horns were shimmering gold.

The monster was tall and lanky, with a human-esque frame. Its body was proportionally narrow, but it was much larger than Otis. Shaggy fur, navy with tufts of pale blue, covered its shoulders, neck, and chest. Otis couldn’t see much below that; his vision was blocked by the fire and smoke. It appeared to be crouching, knees bent on either side of it.

Otis tensed, frozen, trying not to make a sound. Maybe he was dead. This wasn’t what he imagined the after like was like, but he never really knew what to expect from life after death. Or even if there was a life after death. He did think it was unfair that he was still feeling fear after dying. And pain. He was in so much pain.

His mind was racing trying to figure a way out of this. The cave seemed to be closed off; the only visible opening was a gap in the ceiling, where smoke from the fire escaped. That part of the ceiling was at least eight feet off the ground. His head throbbed.

There was a rustling noise, sending a surge of fear through him. Praying that he was just hearing things, he looked at the monster. It had moved. It crept toward him hesitantly. Otis could see its legs now, lean and muscular. Below the knees, it was covered in the same shaggy fur as was on its chest. There was a certain beauty to this creature. The colors were crafted from the night sky and golden sundrops. If Otis wasn’t held down by pain and sick with fear, he might take a moment to appreciate the creature.

The monster stopped a few meters away and chirped. Memories of his last moments of consciousness flooded Otis’s mind. The tongue, the hand reaching out, the pain. An odd chirping noise. And then nothing. This must’ve been the monster who’d found him. What kind of sick joke was this? It took him all the way back to its cave to kill him, instead of killing him under the tree, where he was already half dead. Did the monster want him to suffer before it made a meal out of him?

“Are you gonna kill me?” Otis asked. He didn’t sound as scared as he expected too. He sounded hoarse and tired.

The monster pointed a long navy finger at Otis and chirped, “Huuuuurrrrtt.”

“Yeah, it hurts a lot,” Otis said.

The monster crept closer and Otis tried not to flinch. It sat next to him and laid a gentle hand on his stomach. As it splayed its fingers, Otis felt less foggy-brained, and his pain lessened. He noticed that his torso was wrapped in a crude tourniquet. Unevenly torn strips of what looked to be pink, floral-patterned, cotton pajamas covering him from neck to waist, with gaps for his arms.

“Huuuummmaaan beeeettteerrrr?” the monster asked. Its words rolled like ripples in water.

“Um, I guess?” Otis said. This was all very confusing. Never in his life did he imagine lying in a cave with a monster who seemed to be concerned about his health.

He supposed he was better. Actually, quite a bit better. How much time had passed? When he passed out he was in more pain than he’d ever experienced in his life. The wounds were so large that he was sure if he tried to move too much, his organs would fall out. Examining his torso, Otis noted that blood wasn’t seeping through the bandages. The pain wasn’t excruciating. He still hurt when he was still, a dull ache, and moving sent a sharp pain through him, but considering he was at one point nearly dead, this seemed like a big improvement. And he wasn’t covered head to toe in monster blood anymore. That was nice.

Wait. He wasn’t wearing pants. He still had underwear on, which were stained with splotches of dried black blood, but no pants.

Otis cleared his throat, “Uh, do you happen to know where my pants are?”

“Paaaantsss,” the creature repeated. Every time it spoke, the exaggerated sounds vibrated, rumbling and chirruping.

The monster stood, stooping under the low ceilings of the cave, and lumbered back to the other side of the fire. It returned with Otis’ pants, holding them as far away from its face as possible. The stench from them hit Otis when the monster was a couple meters away. Rotten and bitter like rotting fruit and peroxide. They were dark black and still wet from the tusked monster’s blood, no longer blue denim.

“Ugh, never mind,” Otis said. “I don’t want them.”

The creature nodded. Sparkles of light bounced around the cave as the light from the fire reflected off its mask. It tossed the pants into the shadows of the cave and then looked at Otis, then it cocked its head to the side. No longer overwhelmed with fear, Otis thought the monster’s movements were rather adorable.

“Huuuummaaaannn huuuunngrryyyyyy?” it chirped, tilting its chin toward Otis.

“Um, yeah, a little actually,” Otis said. More than a little. The last thing he’d had to eat were a few baby carrots.

The monster nodded again and picked up a misshapen knife. Otis shrank back, but the monster didn’t move toward him. It sat on the other side of the fire and began chopping something Otis couldn’t see from his spot on the floor.

A lot of weird things had happened to Otis in his life; that was in the Monster Hunter job description. But, this was by far the weirdest. Of course, there were “good” monsters, who helped the M.H.A. hunt down the baddies, but even they’d always given Otis the creeps. They were usually indistinguishable from the cruel monsters. On top of that, he’d been trained to see every monster as a threat. His father reminded him constantly that even the good monsters couldn’t be trusted. _Never trust a monster_.

Otis tried to convince himself that this was a trap. He couldn’t trust this creature. The monster was just healing him to eat him. That didn’t make sense though. That was so much extra work. Why not just eat him from the start? Otis’s head hurt.

A few minutes later there was a quiet sizzling and Otis turned his head to see the monster cooking five fish on a large stone slab over the fire. Soon the smell filled the cave and Otis’ mouth watered. His stomach growled loudly, and he realized just how hungry he was. Otis closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of the fire and cooking fish.

“Huuuuummmaaaaannn,” the monster cooed several minutes later. It sat next to him and held out the fish, which were set on a faded National’s t-shirt. “Foooooooood.” The monster chirruped three times, like it was pleased with itself.

“Is that…is that all for me?” Otis asked, frowning at the offering. Yeah, he was hungry, but not _that_ hungry.

The monster nodded and scooted closer. Much like people and animals, monsters had their own scents. The aroma that wafted from the monster was surprisingly pleasant. Like plums and black tea. And cooked fish, but that was probably from the food, not the monster.

“Um, I can’t eat all that,” Otis said, looking up nervously. He didn’t want to offend the monster.

It tilted its head to the side and then looked down at the fish. Its golden eyes glinted beneath the mask. The monster placed the shirt on the floor beside Otis and backed away, curling its legs to its chest as it sat watching.

There wasn’t anything else to do besides eat the fish. Otis sat up, wincing. The pain was so much worse when he moved. The monster was up in a flash, which made Otis jump. Then, it was behind him, supporting his back so he didn’t have to hold himself up. This all just kept getting weirder but it’s not like Otis could do anything else besides let it all happen. He was injured, starving, and tired. And the monster really didn’t seem like a threat.

The fish was hot against Otis’ fingers, the scaly skin flaking off as he pulled it apart. (He was happy to say he still had all his fingers, even after fighting that beast of a monster. Take that crazy hunters.) Though he wanted to scarf the food down in one bite, he refrained, eating with slow movements as to not aggravate his wound, or burn his tongue. The flavor was dry, without any butter or seasoning, but it was flaky and tender and overall, very good for Otis’s empty stomach. The warmth of the meal felt good in his belly and spread through him, distracting from his aches and pains. He managed to eat an entire fish and then half of another.

“I can’t eat anymore,” Otis said, sincerely hoping the monster didn’t take offense. “I’m full.”

The creature gently lowered Otis onto his back and then moved to sit beside him again. It pointed at the three and a half fish remaining and asked, “Huuuummmaaaaannn ssuuuuurrre?”

“Yeah, I really can’t eat anymore,” he said, looking up at the creature.

It looked at him for a few seconds and then snatched up one of the fish between two fingers. Its fingers made sense proportionally, though they seemed a tad long. Its nails were pale blue claws. Tilting back, the creature opened its mouth, its jaw unhinging like a snake, revealing sharp teeth that sent a cold shiver through Otis. Then it dropped the fish into its mouth and snapped its mouth shut. It chewed quickly, swallowed, and then repeated the movements with each fish. When it finished, its tongue flicked out to lick its face. The scene was something from a cartoon, each movement so exaggerated and unreal. Otis found himself laughing.

His laughter made the monster breathe in sharply. It leaned forward, tilting its head and looking at Otis with wondering eyes. Moving at a snail’s pace, it reached out and touched a finger to Otis’s lips. Otis’s breath caught but the anxiety quickly subsided. The creature’s finger was warm and soft.

“Noooiiiissse,” it rumbled. “Huuuummmmaaannn noooiiiissse.”

“Laughter?”

“Laaaaauuuuugghhttteerrrrrrr,” the creature repeated. It made a noise like a frog rapidly croaking, followed by more chirrups. “Laaauuuugghhh.”

Whether the creature was commanding he laugh again or merely commenting, Otis wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t help but giggle. The creature’s noise was so comical; he couldn’t help himself. It made the noises again, laughing with him.

“Huuuuummmaaaaannn laaaauuugghhhh.”

“Yeah, monster also laugh,” Otis said. He put a hand gently on his torso, trying to soothe the pain that erupted from laughing.

“Nooootttt moooonnnnsstterrrr,” the creature said, pulling back. It shook its head and pointed to itself. “Heeee’ssss Ieeerrrrooosssiiii.”

“Ierosi?” Otis repeated. It nodded. He. He nodded.

Otis smiled, and Ierosi reached out and touched a finger to his lips again. He traced the shaped of Otis’s smile. For reasons Otis couldn’t explain, he blushed. The gesture was so innocent, filled with curiosity and wonder. It made Otis feel vulnerable and bare. With wide eyes, Ierosi gently poked his cheek, touching the blossoming pink. He made a trilling noise and then pulled his hand away.

After taking a moment to build up his courage, Otis started to sit up, so he could reach toward Ierosi, when the creature abruptly turned his head, staring at the wall of the cave. A low rumbling gathered in his throat and he stood, taking silent steps. With a brisk shove, Ierosi pushed the wall, revealing an entrance to outside.

The moment of vulnerability was over, crashing down around Otis. The real world was let back into his life, taking the shape of a twilight sky and the silhouetted tops of trees. He sat up on his elbows, ignoring the pain flaring in his chest. He was reminded that time kept moving, and he wondered again how long he’d been here.

“Huuuummmaaaannn sssstaaaayyyy,” Ierosi said, looking at Otis.

“Can’t really do anything else,” Otis mumbled. He didn’t relish the thought of being alone.  

Ierosi stepped out of the cave and pushed the wall back into place. A few seconds later, the stone was pushed open, just wide enough that a human could squeeze through if necessary.

Otis lay back down, his head resting on the soft bundle of furs that Ierosi had provided. This monster really wasn’t so bad. In fact, he was nicer than most humans that Otis knew. _Never trust a monster_ , his mind reminded him. The rule seemed suddenly ridiculous. Who was to say every monster was inherently evil? This monster seemed trustworthy. He’d healed Otis, which was a good quality in anyone.

A loud screech made Otis jump. A sound like a mother bird protecting her nest that was then amplified over a stadium speaker. A horrible, grating sound that struck Otis to the bone. The screech was followed by a deep rumbling, which must’ve been Ierosi. Otis’ heart clenched. He wasn’t sure if he was afraid for the creature, afraid of the creature, or afraid for himself.

As he listened, Otis tried to work out what was happening. The sounds drew closer, the horrid nails-on-a-chalkboard screech, Ierosi’s ground-moving rumble, tree branches cracking. Ierosi was fighting what had to be another monster. And if he was fighting another monster, that meant there were three monsters in a short amount of time in an area that was considered a cold spot. That was wrong. Something was wrong. This area was known for being low-maintenance and low-risk. Yet, before the next infestation was due to begin, there were three monsters. Otis felt like his throat was closing.

Otis lay tensely on the cave floor as he listened to the sounds of the fight. Crashing, breaking, tumbling. A roar that made Otis shudder. A long, pained screech and then silence. Several moments of silence. Then, the cave wall opened and Ierosi stepped in. He shut out the night and looked around the cave, carrying a fistful of yellow feathers.

Ierosi shuffled to the other side of the cave, putting the feathers down with his things. He then trudged back and handed a single feather to Otis. Otis took it, the vane of the feather separating between his fingers. There was no explanation offered for the small gift; Ierosi said nothing and settled beside the fire. Unsure of what to do or why Ierosi gave him the feather, Otis put it down gently beside the furs.

Midnight blood was oozing from wounds on Ierosi’s arms and left thigh. The blood shimmered orange in the flickering firelight. Ierosi stuck out his tongue – blue-ish white, long, and flexible – and began to lick his wounds. Wrinkling his nose and curling his lip, Otis watched with a mix of fascination and disgust. Silvery saliva built up on Ierosi’s tongue as he licked away the blood. The saliva got thicker, reflecting glimmers of fire. Otis was about to look away, revolted, when he realized Ierosi’s wounds were closing. The lacerations were still visible, swollen and raised, but the wounds weren’t open, and the blood stopped flowing.

With a grunt, Otis pushed himself into a sitting position and looked down at himself. Fingers shaking, he lightly touched the floral cotton wrapped around him. Had Ierosi closed his wounds the same way? Was that why there wasn’t any blood on the fabric? Otis’s mind reeled. His entire life he’d learned monsters, even the “good” ones, were only capable of destruction. Yet, he was witnessing a monster heal. And the monster had healed him. The pain was still there, sure, but it wasn’t as bad, and he wasn’t going to bleed to death. The full weight of the truth hit him, and he regretted ever doubting the creature for a moment. Ierosi had saved his life.

“Ierosi,” Otis said, voice raspy and awestruck. He looked up, and Ierosi closed his mouth and turned to face him. “You saved my life.”

Ierosi nodded.

“Why?” Otis asked.

Ierosi cocked his head and said nothing for a moment. Beneath the mask, almond-shaped eyes blinked. Then, as if the answer was as clear as day, he said, “Huuuuummmmannn hhuuuuuuurrrrrttt.”

“Yeah, but, other mons- other creatures would’ve just eaten me or killed me or something.”

Ierosi jerked back and clutched one hand over his chest. Horrified. Offended at the very notion. Otis was beginning to wonder if Ierosi could even be considered a monster. Weren’t all monsters bloodthirsty? At least to some extent?

“Never mind,” Otis said. He didn’t want to push the subject and offend Ierosi, so he let his eyes drift down. He saw the feather laying against the cave floor. Picking it up, he asked, “Were you fighting a monster just now?”

Ierosi nodded.

“Have there been others since I’ve been here? How long have I been here?”

Ierosi looked up at the ceiling. Through the hole in the rock, stars twinkled, faded behind the smoke of the fire. He looked back at Otis and said, voice vibrating, “Thhhiiirrrrrdddd mmoooooonnnn. Fffoooouuurrr mmmoooonnnssstteeerrrsss.”

“This is the third moon? So, I’ve been here…two and half days? It was afternoon when you found me. And then all of yesterday and today,” Otis said. Ierosi nodded. “And in that time, there have been four monsters? Did you fight all of them?”

Ierosi held up two slender fingers.

“You fought two of them?” Otis asked. A nod. He held up the feather and asked, “Was this one of the four?” Ierosi shook his head.

Five monsters in three days, plus the one he’d killed, plus Ierosi. Seven. Seven monsters in a cold spot. Otis needed to relay this information to the alliance now. Something was clearly wrong. His stomach churned, and he paled.

“Ierosi,” Otis said. “I need to go home. I-I need to tell them – my family and-and friends – about all the monsters. And I’m sure they’re looking for me. Oh god, they must be freaking out.”

Otis put his hand to his forehead and brushed back his hair. Two and a half days. Had anyone found the monster’s carcass? Even if they hadn’t, they must think he’s dead or close to it. A pang hit his chest. His father. His father must be beside himself. They had their differences, but Otis was all he had.

“Huuuummmaaannn hhuuuurrrttt,” Ierosi said, pointing to the bandages.

“Otis,” Otis said absently. Ierosi tilted his head. “My name is Otis.”

“Ooootttiiiissss,” Ierosi repeated, putting too much emphasis on the ‘t’.

“Yes,” he said. “Listen, I gotta get home. I know I’m hurt but my family can take care of me. They can. And I need to warn them. And let them know I’m alive.” Panic was rising in his chest. Frantic panic.

“Iiiii taaaaakke Ooootttiiissss,” Ierosi said.

Otis thought that was a bad idea. What if one of the hunters attacked him? He didn’t want Ierosi to get hurt, not after Ierosi had saved his life. And, he didn’t think Ierosi deserved to die. But, really, Otis didn’t have a choice. There was no way he could walk back himself with his injury. And his phone was probably dead at this point, so no chance of calling anybody to pick him up. His phone. Where was his bag?

“Did you happen to pick up my backpack?” Otis asked. Ierosi stood and took two quick strides to the other side of the cave. He returned with Otis’ backpack, which he placed gently next to him.

“Thanks, man,” Otis said. Ierosi chirped.

He pulled the zipper open and rummaged through the mess of contents. Gross. The two-and-a-half-day-old, unrefrigerated carrots looked gnarly. He tossed them into the fire and continued his search. From the bottom of his bag he pulled out the change of clothes he always carried with him. An old t-shirt from high school gym class, the pair of jeans with the permanent stain on the thigh, and a pair of boxer-briefs with a hole in them. His least favorite clothes, but anything was better than wearing only a pair of monster-blood-stained underwear.

Otis started to shimmy out of his underwear when he froze and looked up. Ierosi was seated again, watching Otis intently.

“Um, could I have some privacy?” Otis asked. Ierosi stared. “Maybe, uh, turn around, please?”

Ierosi swiveled on his butt, his back now facing Otis. With no shortage of struggling, Otis got his underwear off (he pretended not to notice that his thighs were stained with black blood) and got the clean pair and his jeans on. No matter how he tried, though, he couldn’t get his shirt on. It was impossible to lift his arms that high without extreme pain. He admitted defeat and asked for help.

“Ierosi?” The creature looked over his shoulder. Otis said, “Could you maybe, um, help me get my shirt on?”

The shirt was bunched up around his biceps, which was all Otis could manage. Ierosi moved close and with gentle hands, like he was handling precious and fragile life, he pulled the collar of the shirt over Otis’ head.

“Thank you,” Otis said. His face was flushed. He didn’t like asking for help with something so menial.

Ierosi looked at Otis for a second, and then bent his head and nuzzled his nose against Otis’s temple. Otis went still. His face grew even warmer. He felt like a child who’d been kissed on the cheek by his first crush. Butterflies in his tummy, an unexpected feeling of elation. The gesture was so simple, so sweet. With a shaking hand, Otis reached up and lightly patted Ierosi’s cheek. The creature purred, a low rumbling.

“Should…should we go?” Otis asked. He was uncertain and awkward, and he wanted to escape the suffocating, confusing feelings. He didn’t know what to do with himself.

Ierosi nodded. Sitting so close, Otis heard the soft jingling of jewelry. He looked up and noticed thin gold chains wrapped around the bases of Ierosi’s horns. They matched the bangles on his wrists.

Otis sat uncomfortably on the floor, trying to ignore his flustered state. He played with the yellow feather as Ierosi put out the fire and gathered a few things, which the creature placed in a little black satchel. A normal sized satchel for Otis. Small for Ierosi.

The feather Ierosi had given him was longer than Otis’ forearm. The tip was off-white. Irregular stripes of brown and black interrupted the yellow. He couldn’t figure out why Ierosi handed it to him. It’s not like he had anything to do with the fight. That reminded him…

“Ierosi,” Otis said. “Could we stop where I killed that monster? I want one of its teeth.”

Ierosi shrugged, apparently agreeing.

As the creature drew near, Otis expected Ierosi to help him stand. Or maybe give him a piggyback ride. He did not expect to be picked up like he weighed nothing and cradled like a baby. He almost demanded that Ierosi put him down, but as soon as he saw outside the cave, he decided that wasn’t a good idea. They were at least fifty meters up a cliff-face. Otis would struggle getting down it even if he wasn’t injured. There was no way he’d manage in his current condition.

Resigning himself to an undignified journey, Otis snuggled against Ierosi. Like the fur on his calves, the fur on Ierosi’s chest was fluffy and thick and made for a warm, comfortable pillow. With his ear pressed against Ierosi’s chest, Otis could hear the slow, rhythmic beat of his heart. The warmth and the therapeutic beating soon had Otis asleep.


	3. Otis

Ierosi dropped Otis off at the border of M.H.A.’s North American Mid-Atlantic headquarters, or Mid-Lant as most people called it. The headquarters was once a plantation, made up of acres and acres of land. Much of the land had been sold during the Reconstruction Era, as the original plantation owner tried not to fall into debt. When the owner decided he couldn’t keep up with the cost of the land, he sold what remained of the plantation. The buyer was one of Otis’ relatives, Artemis Hall, who was rolling in money and looking to put it to good use, namely by setting up a new base of operations for M.H.A. The buildings on the plantation were torn down and replaced with a mansion, which was built in renaissance revival architectural style. The unused land was turned into gardens, training areas, buildings for teaching, or left alone for Mother Nature to do what she wished with it.

A post and rail fence bordered the land. The fence was replaced and repaired infrequently, the white paint chipping off to reveal dark wood, much of it wet and rotten. Many of the rails had fallen, brought down by gravity, animals, or exploring children. The fence was an inconsequential part of the headquarters, so it was left to deteriorate until someone got fed up with it’s appearance and decided to replace it.

Ierosi set Otis down on the inner side of the fence, gently lowering him into the grass, and then set down the enormous tooth from the beast Otis had killed. Ierosi extricated the tooth from its carcass while Otis slept, unconscious of time passing. Holding Otis and the tooth was awkward, but Ierosi managed.  

As Ierosi’s hands left him in the grass, Otis’s throat tightened. He really liked this creature. Somehow, in a few short hours of consciousness, Otis had become attached. Not to mention, he was indebted to him. Ierosi saved his life and Otis hadn’t been able to repay him in any way.

“Ooootttiiiissss,” the beast rumbled, patting Otis’ head.

“Thank you, Ierosi,” he said. “For everything. Really, I can’t thank you enough. I hope…I hope I’ll see you again.”

Ierosi nodded and then leaned over the fence to nuzzle his nose against Otis’ cheek. There was a bloom of sadness and affection in Otis’s chest.

“See ya, big guy,” Otis said. Giving in to impulse, he stood on tiptoe as Ierosi was pulling away and kissed the creature’s nose.

Otis could’ve sworn that speckles of gold blossomed in Ierosi’s cheeks. A blush? The possibility that Ierosi was blushing made Otis’s heart beat faster and his face flush. The creature cooed and reached out to touch a finger to Otis’s cheek. Then stood to his full height, at least ten feet. He waved to Otis and then turned, returning to the woods. Otis watched until Ierosi disappeared into the tree line.

This edge of the headquarters’ land was far away from any actual building. Otis couldn’t drag the enormous tooth there by himself on a good day, and now, with his side aching, he didn’t think he could walk the whole distance even if he wasn’t carrying anything. He sat down in the overgrown grass, leaning against one of the sturdier fence posts. Otis wasn’t sure what time it was, but he knew perimeter checks occurred a few times throughout the day and night. During dry spells between monster invasions, perimeter checks weren’t taken very seriously. Freshly licensed teenagers were sent to drive around and make sure nothing suspicious was going on.

Otis really wished he knew what time it was. He guessed somewhere around midnight, but he couldn’t be sure. And it had been so long since he did perimeter checks that he no longer knew when they occurred. For all he knew, he could be sitting here for a few hours. At least he had bug spray in his bag. The smell was awful, but it would ward off the mosquitos.

Long grasses surrounded Otis, swaying in the soft breeze. Greens and browns, with irregular patches of wildflowers. One of the remaining areas given to Mother Nature. The older members of the Mid-Atlantic sector had been talking about building on the land for years now, but Otis hoped they wouldn’t.

This was an area that wasn’t meant to be tamed, an area for the children of M.H.A. to grow as wild as the land. A place to spend summer nights chasing after fireflies, competing to catch the most before releasing them back into the humid air, the bugs blinking as they flew away. A place to scare the younger children with stories of snakes that lived in the grasses, but not to scare them enough that they’d be deterred from running through the field with everyone else. A place to tear jeans and get grass stains on clothes. It was a passage way into the forest that bordered M.H.A., where a cold, clear creek wound through the trees, filled with smooth stones and the home of crawdads. A passage way to childhood adventures.

In the autumn, the gardener, Mr. Mann would turn his truck into a hay ride. The children would pile into the hay-filled wagon and tour through places that they knew better than they knew themselves. In the big field, Mr. Mann would stop the truck and stand up. For as long as the kids could sit without getting restless, he would tell stories about previous M.H.A. members, about battles and monsters, about the ghosts that haunted the fields. Until the end of October, the children would spook each other with stories about the ghosts, swearing that they’d seen one roaming. When November came, all the kids would slowly forget about the hauntings, moving their attention to new things.

Sitting alone in the field, listening to the crickets and cicadas, watching the fireflies blink, Otis had an intense desire to return to his childhood. Return to the days of shrieking laughter and nighttime stories. When he and his brothers fought imaginary monsters, training for the days that they’d slay the fiercest beasts. Otis didn’t know then that he’d be the only one of them to survive to slay beasts. And out of the three of them, he’d wanted to be a hunter the least of all.

Otis was lost in thought, fighting tears that were welling up, when he heard the rumbling of an engine. With the support of the fence rail, he stood and waved his arms in the air to flag down the nearing vehicle. The movement gave him vertigo, but a few moments of dizziness and lack of balance were worth getting back to the mansion. The pain in his side erupted, and he dropped his hands to clutch himself as the vehicle neared.

The jeep pulled to a stop in front of him and a dark-skinned girl with her hair in tight braids hopped out. Otis knew everyone at the Mid-Atlantic sector; he’d grown up here and the sector was relatively small. Though it was called the Mid-Atlantic sector, the sector only hunted monsters in Maryland, Delaware, Virginia, and West Virginia, unless another sector requested help.

The girl who jumped out of the jeep was born and raised at Mid-Lant, as were several generations of her family. Precious Edison, a small framed, serious girl who would likely grow up to be one of the best hunters in history. Level-headed, calculating, no-nonsense. She was a prodigy, favored by most teachers and always at the top of her class. Though small in stature, she packed a punch. Otis would know; he’d trained with her.

“Otis?” she said, eyes widening. “Where the hell have you been? People have been looking for you!”

“Good to know my absence was noticed,” Otis said. Mid-Lant probably sent out search parties soon after they realized Otis wasn’t going to return to his pick-up spot. Again, guilt washed over him as he thought of his father, waiting for him, wondering if he’d lost another son.

Precious crossed her arms and shifted most of her weight onto one leg, giving Otis an unamused look.

“People thought you were dead,” she said flatly.

That sobered Otis, and for a moment he dropped the sarcasm. “I thought I was too,” he said, voice so low that only Precious heard. Her expression softened, and she reached forward to put a hand on his arm. Before she could say or ask anything, one of the teenage boys in the jeep called out.

“What the fuck is that?” He was a greasy looking kid, not old enough to drive so he was probably just along for the ride. Hanging out of the open top of the jeep, he ogled at the tooth laying in the grass.

“It’s a tooth,” Otis said.

“Obviously,” the kid said. “But where’d you get it?”

“A monster.”

“How?”

“I killed it,” Otis said. Exhaustion and trepidation hit him like a truck as he realized the next few days would be spent telling the same story over and over again. The notion was displeasing and nauseating, making him wish for a moment that he had died. The teenager didn’t make Otis feel any better by scoffing with disbelief.

“Nuh-uh,” he said, looking Otis over.

Otis was too young to be a grumpy old man, but at the moment he really felt like one. His body ached and begged for him to lie down and rest. If he stood any longer, he might pass out. Each minute that ticked by took a toll on his balance. The injury on his torso throbbed dully and his head pounded. He needed water and food. And he needed this kid to shut the fuck up. Unlike a grumpy old man, Otis was pretty sure he could kick this kid’s ass, even in his current state.

“Shut up, Robert,” Precious said. She squeezed Otis’s arm gently. He was clutching his side and fighting off a violent dizzy spell, trying not to fall over. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, peachy,” Otis said. “Dehydrated and in pain but other than that, peachy.”

Precious looked at him for a moment, worry knitting her dark brows together. She patted Otis’s arm and then sprang into action, taking charge of the jeep, ordering around the teenage boys. Though there was some grumbling and complaining, the boys did as she said. The tooth was hauled into the back of the vehicle, along with Otis’s backpack. Otis realized he didn’t know where his spear was. He didn’t think it was ever in Ierosi’s cave. It didn’t matter; he could always get another one.

Precious kicked one of the teenagers out of the passenger seat, forcing him into the back with Robert and a silent, muscular kid named Keegan. The passenger seat was vacated for Otis, so he didn’t have to sit next to any of the curious teens.

There were many things Otis had taken for granted before getting wounded. Pulling himself into a tall car was one of them. Seeing Otis wince as he tried to lift himself into the car, Precious gave him a hand. He settled into the seat with a groan.

After a brief argument with the boy in the driver’s seat, Chris, Precious convinced him to squeeze into the back seat and let her drive. As soon as she started the jeep up, maneuvering it through the tall grasses, the boys in the back started to bombard Otis with questions. Precious told them to, “Shut up. Let Otis rest.” Otis gave her a weak but appreciative smile.

While he’d waited for the perimeter check, Otis had become more and more nauseated. His muscles felt week and pain was radiating through him. Standing for those few minutes had made the nausea worse. Now, with the jeep rocking across uneven terrain, he was in agony. The wound was throbbing. Through his t-shirt and the bandages, it was sore and painful to touch. He hadn’t been feeling great since Ierosi left, but the fresh air and the smell of the earth kept him from feeling too awful. The arguing teenagers, exhaust fumes, and bouncing movement of the car were making his pain and nausea a million times worse.

“Are you gonna hurl?” Precious asked, glancing over at him.

“I hope not,” Otis said weakly.

“If you need to, tell me. I’ll stop the car,” she said. He gave a thumbs-up and concentrated on taking deep breaths.

As soon as the car stopped in front of the mansion that served as headquarters, Otis threw the car door open and retched out the side. His muscles trembled, barely holding him up as he gripped the inside handle of the door. There was a chorus of disgusted exclamations, followed by Precious telling the boys to get out and do something useful. Stepping carefully, Precious helped Otis out of the car, supporting him under his arms. He was thankful she was there, because as soon as his feet hit the ground, his knees gave out. He would’ve collapsed if Precious hadn’t countered his body weight and kept him upright.

“Easy, Otis,” she said.

“I need to sit,” he mumbled. “I’m gonna pass out.” And then he did.

* * *

  


When he came to, he was in the small medical ward, overlooked by Doctor Maria Lopez. Though Otis would rather be here than any hospital, the medical ward still had that uncomfortable sterile atmosphere. Alcohol and hand sanitizer. White lights, white floors, mostly white walls. Maria did her best to make the medical ward more comfortable, decorating with books and paintings that she changed out every year.

Otis had known the doctor since he was a baby. She’d been working toward her doctorate, doing an internship with Doctor James Kensington, when Otis’s mother was pregnant with him. Maria helped the previous Head Doctor with the birth.

Though Otis wouldn’t say it out loud, she was his favorite adult in his life. Caring, generous, a bit too forgiving. A second mother to him when he’d needed it most.

“Hello, Otis,” she said when she saw his eyes open.

He groaned and gave her a flimsy wave.

“That was a fancy bandage you had on,” she said. Her voice was warm maple syrup, comforting and just the right amount of sweet as it poured over Otis.

Standing at his bedside with a loving smile, Maria brushed Otis’s hair back from his forehead. Though he hadn’t noticed until recently, Maria aged just like everybody else. The corners of her eyes had crow’s feet from years of smiling and there was a single worry wrinkle on her forehead. Streaks of gray decorated her dark brown hair. Even with the signs of aging, her smile made him feel like a child again. The soft eyes and slight tilt of her head, a strand of hair escaping her tight bun. She made him feel like a child who was allowed to cry, allowed to be comforted, allowed to feel.

“Thanks,” Otis mumbled.

“Care to tell me where you got it?” she asked.

“Can I have food first?” he asked.

“Oh, I suppose,” she said with mock exasperation. “I’ll be right back.”

The door clicked behind her and her footsteps faded away down the hallway. Otis glanced around the room. It was one of many in the medical ward, but like all of them, they had a touch of Maria. A Winnie the Pooh plushie sat on the shelf above the cabinets. There was a narrow white bookcase with four shelves on the wall of the door. An assortment of books filled the shelves, along with unbreakable knick-knacks. A few years ago, Maria decided she hated the white walls of all the rooms, and asked the most artistic children, teenagers, and adults of the Mid-Atlantic sector to paint murals on one wall in each room. Otis smiled to himself when he saw that he was in what had been his favorite room growing up. The bear room.

The painted wall had a scene of several different bears. A polar bear walking through snow, which faced into a woods scene with a grizzly bear, black bear, and sun bear. The woods faded into bamboo, where a panda munched on leaves. The bookcase’s knick-knacks included bear stuffed animals and plastic toys. The koala stuffed animal hugging her koala baby had always been Otis’s favorite.

Otis looked away from the bookcase as the door opened, and Maria walked in with a tray full of food. After setting the tray onto the bed’s tray table, Maria raised the back of the hospital bed, so Otis could sit upright. The tray was filled with homemade food that made Otis’s stomach rumble and his mouth water. Soup, he didn’t know what kind, but if Maria made it, it was sure to be delicious. Biscuits, probably baked within the last day and a half. Two chocolate chip cookies.

“Wow, two cookies,” Otis said. “You must’ve really been worried about me.”

With a smile, Maria kissed his forehead and said, “I was, _mijo_.”

Maria had probably worried as much as his father had. Otis hadn’t seen his father yet, but he must know that Otis was alive and back.

“How long have I been out?” Otis asked, blowing on a spoonful of soup.

“Most of the night,” Maria said. “It was nearly midnight when Keegan came running to wake me up, telling me that you were passed out on the doorstep.” She glanced at her watch, then said, “It’s about five in the morning now.”

“Cool, a whole five hours,” Otis said. “Added to the two and a half days I was unconscious. I should be set on sleep for a while.”

“Uh-uh, Otis,” Maria reprimanded. “You’ll be resting until you get better.”

“Ugh, what are you, my doctor or something?” Otis asked. Maria laughed and again brushed his hair out of his face.

“Your wounds look like they’ve been healing for much longer than almost three days,” she said.

“Yeah, I’ll tell you about that,” Otis assured her. “Does Dad know I’m back?”

“Yes, he was here for a little while, but he was pestering me and getting in my way,” she said. “He agreed to leave once I assured him you would be fine.”

“What about Cedric?”

“He was still awake when you came in. After your dad left, he sat in the room with you for a while,” Maria said.

“I feel bad,” Otis said, looking down at the tray. “To put them through that after…”

“I know, honey,” Maria said. She gently rubbed his upper arm, “But, it’s not your fault. I’m sure you came home as soon as you could.”

“I did,” Otis said. “But, I almost didn’t come home at all. I thought I was going to die. I should’ve died.”

The emotions of the past few days overwhelmed him, flooding him with more than he could handle. Fear, panic, remorse, guilt, hopelessness. Tears spilled down his cheeks as the words flowed out of him like a waterfall. He picked at one of the biscuits, taking tiny nibbling bites as he told Maria everything. Well, almost everything. A few details, like kissing Ierosi goodbye, weren’t necessary. By the end of his story, the tears had stopped, and he was exhausted. That’s what he’d been for days. Exhausted. His chest hurt, and all he wanted to do was fall asleep.

“Otis,” Maria said. He looked at her and realized that her cheeks were also streaked with tears. “I am so glad you’re here. I was afraid…” her voice cracked. Taking a deep breath, she continued, “I was afraid we’d lost you too. And apparently, we came pretty close. Whoever this Ierosi is, he’s your guardian angel. I wish I could meet him and thank him. Thanking him wouldn’t be enough to express how grateful I am, but it would be a start.”

“I know,” Otis said quietly. “It…it makes me question our view on monsters. I mean, obviously some are awful, but they can’t all be. Ierosi is proof of that.”

Maria kissed Otis’s forehead, pressing her lips to his skin for several seconds. When she pulled back, she wiped her eyes and smiled.

“Finish your food, _mijo_ ,” she said. “And then you should sleep more. I’m sure you’ll have a busy afternoon today.”

Otis groaned. She was right. People would want to meet with him, hear his story, figure out where they should go from here. Figure out what precautions needed to be taken. He could use all the sleep he could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a while to post cause it originally included another scene. That scene isn't even halfway done and it's already quite long, so I'm splitting them up. Apparently, I'm trying to see how many chapters I can end with Otis being unconscious.


	4. Otis

Maria woke Otis around noon. Though he’d done nothing other than sleep for the past few days, he was still tired. The last thing he wanted to do was go to a meeting with a bunch of professors and officials who would eye him dubiously and interject with annoying questions as they made him explain what had happened to him.

Before the meeting started, Otis had time to get a sponge bath from one of the male nurses, who scrubbed away the blood stains on his thighs. Mildly humiliating. Otis tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. He desperately wanted the blood stains to be washed away but having a human being he barely knew scrub him down so close to his crotch made him almost decide to keep the blood stains.

In M.H.A. meetings, one was expected to wear business formal wear, but as Otis found out, injuries exempted one from wearing uncomfortable clothing. He was permitted to wear a pair of black pajama pants and a loose gray t-shirt. Despite the permitted exception, Otis was sure he’d get some unimpressed looks the moment he walked into Hall Library Junior.

There were two libraries in the Mid-Atlantic headquarters, the largest called Hall Library, after Otis’s relative who’d built it. Hall Library was an enormous building, separate from the mansion. Mid-Lant’s teachers and high-ranking officials had offices in rooms that circled the outmost hallways of the library. The building had two floors above ground and a basement below, which connected to the underground tunnel system. Dark and dusty, the basement was used primarily for storage. Rows and rows of disorganized filing cabinets. Long forgotten battle trophies from years past: the bones, tusks, feathers, and furs of slain monsters.

As a child, the older kids would tell Otis stories of a secret cult that met in the basement under the full moon. In the dead of night, Otis and his brothers snuck through the tunnels to the library basement, where they heard chanting and saw dark shadows flickering in candle light. As they crept nearer to the door, someone jumped out and screeched at them. Otis and his brothers fled, running for their lives, their footsteps echoing against the stone walls. The secret cult was later revealed to be a prank pulled by the older kids. Otis now knew that the most interesting things about the basement were hunting trophies and old diaries from previous hunters.

The above-ground floors of the library each had twelve-foot ceilings, with shelves that covered the walls. Sliding ladders provided access to the highest shelves, all of which were lined with books. The first floor had a large study area, with old oak tables and comfortable chairs that smelled like the past. The study area was near the entrance of the library, surrounded by a maze of packed shelves.

The second floor had a similar study area, by one of the balconies that looked down on the first floor. The area was more modern than the first floor, with computers and technology that wasn’t completely outdated. A similar maze of shelves surrounded the computer area.

Hall Library was impressive to say the least. It was one of the largest M.H.A. libraries in the world. Otis had lost himself in the shelves several times, tucking himself in a corner to devour a book. When he pulled himself out of the story, hours had passed. The library would always give him a sense of comfort.

Hall Library Junior was less impressive and much smaller. The library was officially named Chesapeake Library, but a few decades ago some of the kids started calling it Hall Library Junior, or just Hall Junior, and it stuck. Only the most stubborn of members continued to call it Chesapeake Library.

Hall Junior was a windowless room with a stone fireplace on the back wall. There were book cases from the ceilings to about two-thirds down the wall. Below that, wood counters jutted out, with cabinets underneath. A conference table made from black walnut took up most of the room. The edges were uneven and smoothed, taking the shape of the wood as it was naturally. An assortment of upholstered arm chairs surrounded the table, varying in color, faded from wear, and pattern, everything from embroidery to quatrefoil. There was chair at the head of the table, in front of the fireplace, covered in silver and gold silk upholstery, sewn with patterns of white leaves. The head of the Mid-Atlantic division sat in that chair, leaning on his elbows as he spoke in hushed tones to the man standing beside him.

The head of the Mid-Atlantic division was Otis’s great uncle, Arthur Hall, a man over eighty who still looked sixty. He worked out regularly, staying in shape in case he ever needed to defend himself or someone else. Deep frown lines marked his face from years of contemplation and scowling. An intimidating man, though he was compassionate. Many people feared him, and for good reason. He was strict and intense, but he knew when rules needed to be bent. Deeply thoughtful, quiet, he only spoke when he had something worthwhile to say. Not a man for small talk.

As the door shut behind Otis, Arthur looked up and gave him a brief nod. He gestured for Otis to take a seat, which Otis did at the other end of the table. The chair was brown leather, recently reupholstered, giving it a new-leather smell. Otis sank so deeply into the cushions that he wasn’t sure how he’d get out of the chair, but that was a problem for later. For now, he was grateful for the comfortable seating.

Otis’s father occupied the chair to Arthur’s right. Atticus Hall, the only one of his four brothers to stay at the Mid-Atlantic division. The other three took jobs in other parts of the country, and one left the monster hunting business altogether. Atticus’s younger sister, Georgia, stayed at Mid-Lant, teaching elementary school classes.

Atticus was a proud man, a man who believed in always doing your duty, and always doing what was right, no matter the personal cost. He resented his brothers for leaving. If they had any respect for their ancestors, they would’ve stayed, instead of selling themselves out to larger divisions. The only brother he eventually forgave was Remington, the brother who left the business. Atticus’s face was wound with bandages, covering the wound that would forever scar his face when he called Remington. Days before the funeral he called him. The brother no one thought he’d forgive. Remington landed at the Dulles airport the next day and rushed to console Atticus and his remaining children. Console what was left of the children.

From across the table, Atticus nodded at Otis, his face contorting into something akin to pain. Whenever his children were injured, Atticus couldn’t stand to look them in the face. This was the first time Otis was seeing him since getting back, but Atticus quickly averted eye contact. After Maria assured him that Otis would be fine, he hadn’t visited Otis again. Maybe after the meeting they would talk. Otis hoped they would.

In addition to Arthur, Atticus, and Otis, nine people sat around the conference table, several of whom were teachers. Dr. Appleton, who specialized in biology, sciences, and mathematics, specifically that which related to monsters, sat to Arthur’s left, across the table from Atticus. Next to her sat Dr. Solus, the history professor. Beside him sat Riku Sazuki, or Sazuki as most called her, an expert in all things monster. She helped plan hunts and corresponded with other M.H.A. divisions. A young woman named Darcy Rousseau sat beside her. The seat to Otis’s right was empty.

On the other side of the table, next to Atticus, sat Dr. Ginzburg, head librarian who frequently taught electives. Precious’s mother, Mrs. Nyasha Edison, tracking expert and head trainer was seated beside Dr. Ginzburg. Mr. Louis Edison sat between Nyasha and his daughter. He was a primary coordinator and planner in most monster hunts. Precious was in the chair to Otis’s left.

Schooling differed between M.H.A. divisions. Children who grew up at Mid-Lant typically split their school time between public school and home school, allowing them to have some semblance of a normal childhood. Math and English courses were taken at a public school nearby, though older students had the option of taking an elective or two as well. All other subjects were taught in the M.H.A. Mid-Atlantic School in the building next to the library. The student population was never very large, so all grades were taught in one building. For children of M.H.A. members, school didn’t mean just math, science, English, and history. Students were expected to take training courses and a multitude of classes on monsters, monster hunting, and monster hunting history. Teacher and professors were highly respected within M.H.A., because not only did they spend years monster hunting, they brought up the next generation of monster hunters.

“Are we ready to get started?” Dr. Solus grunted. “The boy is here.” His mouth was turned down into a grimace, unimpressed.

Dr. Solus had an inherit dislike for students from families with a long history of monster hunting. The dislike stemmed from his own experience with training. He came from a family that had no experience in the business and heavily resisted his desire to become a hunter. Before his freshman year of high school, Dr. Solus convinced his parents to let him go to M.H.A. Mid-Atlantic School, where he found himself far behind his peers. The Mid-Atlantic School was smaller than most M.H.A. schools and students grew up together. Solus was an outsider not only because he didn’t know anyone; he had little knowledge of monster hunting.

There was no denying that Solus applied himself. He studied nonstop, forgoing a social life to not only get to the level of his peers, but to surpass them. It seemed to him that generational monster hunters were favored by teachers and peers, and he despised that. Proving his worth, he graduated top of his class and went on to get a college degree in history, with a concentration in monster hunting. Mid-Atlantic accepted him back with open arms, offering him a teaching position. Between teaching and monster slaying, Solus worked toward his doctorate degree.

He never forgot the favoritism, however. As a teacher, he was harder on students from monster hunting families. Often unreasonably hard on them. Because Otis came from such a history of monster slaying, Dr. Solus treated him like gum on the bottom of his boot. The man always twisted his face into a grimace when he spoke to Otis, his bushy brown-gray eyebrows lowering into a frown. He had a bushy mustache to match his brows and always wore his hair in a short, low ponytail. In all his years at Mid-Atlantic, Otis had never seen Dr. Solus wear anything other than a suit. Usually tweed. Always shades of beige, brown, and gray, to match the brown tortoiseshell glasses.

“Not yet, Hank,” Arthur said, in response to Dr. Solus’s question. “We’re waiting for one more person.”

Otis thought Dr. Solus mumbled something about being punctual, but he wasn’t sure. As if on cue, there was a light rapping on the door. Precious – who was sitting on Otis’s left and had given his hand a light squeeze when he walked in – stood up to open the door. To Otis’s delight, the latecomer was Cedric.

Cedric was Otis’s older brother by three years, a tan-skinned, brunette with wire-frame glasses and a lopsided smile. His features favored their mother, but he had Atticus’s freckles. As usual, he wore a button-up shirt. Though Otis and Cedric looked like brothers, you’d think otherwise from Atticus’s treatment of him. Seven years since Cedric lost his legs and Atticus still couldn’t bring himself to look his child in the face. Cedric once seemed destined to be one of the best monster hunters of his generation, but since losing his legs, he’d turned his focus to research. It wasn’t monster hunting, but Otis thought Atticus should be proud of Cedric’s accomplishments.

As Cedric wheeled into the room, manually propelling his wheelchair forward, Otis glanced at Atticus. His father was staring at his hands, interlinked on the table, with a deep frown. No surprise that he couldn’t look at his son when he entered a room.

Precious moved the chair to Otis’s right away, giving Cedric space to pull up to the table. He dropped a pile of notebooks, books, and papers onto the table. After a ‘thank you’ to Precious and a quick grin at Otis, Cedric turned his attention to Arthur, and the meeting commenced.

“Otis, before we begin, how are you feeling?” Arthur asked. He had a disarmingly deep voice, thunder that rolled through the room.

Otis did his best to sit up in his chair and look respectable. Without him asking, Precious stood and pushed the armchair closer to the table, so Otis could lean forward against the walnut wood.

“I’m alright, sir,” he said, giving Precious an appreciative glance. “Truthfully, I’m in pain, but I’m getting better.”

“Glad to hear you’re improving,” Arthur said gruffly. “Would you mind telling us what happened to you over the past few days?”

Otis took a deep breath and started his tale, doing his best to remain even-toned and professional. He’d been emotional with Maria, letting himself feel the raw aches of the experience, but now he had to be respectable. The first interruption to his story came from Dr. Solus, when Otis described the size of the sabertoothed beast.

“Impossible!” he interjected.

Otis swallowed his annoyance and said, “I don’t blame you for thinking that. I still can’t believe it myself. But, uh, I brought one of the teeth home with me. Well, a, uh…a friend carried it for me, but I’ll get to that.”

“Yes, we have it,” Arthur said.

He turned and looked over his shoulder to speak to a girl Otis hadn’t realized was there. Bentley Gilmore, eighteen, fresh out of high school. She wanted to work in the archives after college and to get a head start, she was working as an intern for Arthur. During meetings, she recorded what was said and would fetch things if asked.

“Just a moment,” Arthur said, as Bentley scampered out of the room, curled ponytail bouncing.

The room fell silent and Otis glanced at Cedric, who gave him a wide smile and two thumbs-up. Otis returned the smile. There was going to be a lot of skepticism in this meeting, Otis knew that. He hardly believed the story and he’d lived it. With plenty of explaining ahead of him, Otis was glad to know his brother was on his side.

When Bentley returned she was followed by Spencer Yeun, who was carrying the massive tooth by himself, no one there to help him. It was obvious why he was picked to bring in the tooth. His shirt looked like it was going to rip open any second now, straining against the size of his muscles. He gently placed the tooth beside Arthur’s chair, propping it up against the table. Spencer grinned at Otis from across the table and shot him a finger gun.

“Mr. Yeun, would you please put the tooth on the table for everyone to see?” Arthur asked.

“Sure thing, sir,” Spencer said, and hauled the tooth onto the table.

The bone hadn’t been cleaned and was still splattered with black monster blood. Otis assumed Dr. Appleton had taken swabs for DNA testing, but other than that, the tooth was left alone. A yellow-white color, over five and a half feet in length. Those who hadn’t seen the tooth already gasped, eyes widening. Dr. Solus sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“Thank you, Mr. Yeun,” Arthur said. “You can leave it by the fireplace.”

“You got it, sir,” Spencer said. He placed the tooth near Bentley and then left the room, but not without first smiling at Otis.

“Continue, Otis,” Arthur said.

The next interruption came when Otis recounted killing the monster. Gasps followed by looks of disbelief.

“It was a really, really lucky shot,” Otis said.

“I’ll say,” Nyasha Edison said, shaking her head. “How did you get back to us? You said the monster gave you a wound that should have been fatal.”

“Yeah, uh – I mean yes – I shouldn’t be alive right now,” Otis said.

His gaze dropped to the table and a heavy silence seemed to fill the room. Every person in this room knew Otis turned bad situations into something humorous. The fact that he didn’t bother to make a joke and spoke in a quiet, shaky voice, gave proof to the weight of the experience.

Otis cleared his throat and continued, ignoring the concerned looks, “If one giant monster in a cold spot wasn’t cause for concern, two is. Two an-and more, but, I’m getting ahead of myself. I was making peace with death when I heard rustling…”

The story continued, eliciting baffled interjections, people refusing to believe another monster found him, and that he managed to survive. The room sobered with a mix of awe, confusion, and disbelief when Otis spoke about Ierosi, and told them that the only reason he was alive was because of a monster.

Otis expected another outburst from Dr. Solus, but the man sat in silence with his hands folded on the table, looking at Otis intently. Not angrily or with annoyance. Intently. Atticus, however, had his hand balled into a fist, and he voiced his disbelief. A monster couldn’t save him. Monsters were blood-thirsty murderers. Never trust a monster.

Arthur silenced Atticus and asked Otis to continue.

There were several details Otis left out from his story, including details he’d told Maria, such as Ierosi eating the leftover fish and what Ierosi looked like. He gave the cliff notes version, skipping over anything that wasn’t necessary.

“Seven monsters in two and a half days,” Otis reiterated, after telling about Ierosi’s fight. “In a cold spot. And monsters aren’t due for another few months at the earliest.”

“Seven monsters if we’re to believe the word of a monster,” Atticus said. His knuckles were white from clenching his hand into fist.

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t,” Arthur said sharply. “That monster saved your son’s life.” Atticus went quiet and sat back in his chair, cheeks burning red.

“It’s concerning,” Dr. Appleton said, rubbing the green aventurine stone charm she wore. “Otis, do you have that feather you said the monster – Ierosi – gave you?”

“Yes,” Otis said. “It’s in my backpack.”

“I would like to see it later, please,” She said. Otis nodded.

Dr. Appleton was a thin, brittle looking woman, but she was far heartier than she appeared. None of the students or former students had the guts to ask her about her age, but they suspected that she was somewhere between sixty and seventy. Her gray-white hair was left down, reaching to the bottom of her shoulder blades, and slicked back with gel so not a single strand fell in her face. Though her skin was loose on her skinny frame, worn and wrinkled, her muscles were taut. Otis wouldn’t be surprised if she could lift him without struggle. A pair of thin wire frames sat on her beaked nose, giving her a stern, no-nonsense demeanor.

Pupils on their first day of class with her were terrified when she walked in, her heeled boots clicking against the floors. She always wore either a perfectly pressed pantsuit or a long, ankle-length skirt with a sweater or button up blouse. After looking at the class with her gray eagle-eyes, sizing up the students, she would speak, and everyone would be at ease. She had a low, calming voice, rich and warm. Outside of the classroom, she rarely spoke, preferring to listen. Her personality combined of her appearance and voice. Put-together, stern, observant, while also warm, comforting, and interested.

“We’ll have to send out a team to search the area,” Mr. Edison said. He looked at Sazuki, who voiced her agreement.

“Absolutely,” she said. “Some of those who have hunted in past infestations, along with newer hunters to give them experience.”

“Riku,” Nyasha said. “We don’t know the situation. It would be dangerous to send unexperienced hunters on an expedition like this.”

“Monster hunting is dangerous, Nyasha,” Sazuki said. “The teams will be big enough to protect each other should anything go wrong.” Nyasha pursed her lips but said nothing.

Much like her daughter, Nyasha was a force to be reckoned with. An outspoken, opinionated woman who would argue for and fight for what she believed in. However, she was also level-headed like Precious, and knew when to argue and when to save the battle for later.

“We must contact other divisions,” Sazuki said. “Put them on the alert for possible early infestations. This could be an anomaly, but we need to know if it is not.”

The adults debated over the next courses of action, occasionally tossing questions at Otis, meaning he had to pay attention. There were arguments and agreements. Speculations, planning, and comparisons to past infestations. The only people to remain silent were Precious, Darcy, and Cedric, who followed the conversation with rapt attention.

Dr. Ginzburg brought Cedric into the conversation, addressing him by name. Beside him, Atticus flinched when he heard his son’s name reverberate clearly through the room. Otis frowned and balled his fists but turned his attention to Cedric.

“Cedric,” Dr. Ginzburg said. “I know you’ve been researching diaries and journals from past hunters. In your research, have you come across anything similar to this? An expected infestation?”

Cedric hesitated, “There are dozens, possibly hundreds of stories in folklore about surprise monster attacks. Those are likely exaggerated versions of the truth, but the attacks don’t seem to happen in clusters unless there’s an infestation. I’ll sort through my research and compare dates…I don’t recall anything like this happening, though.”

“It’s seven monsters,” Dr. Solus said. “That hardly counts as an infestation.” He held his hand up for quiet when Nyasha opened her mouth to interrupt. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t be concerned. I’m just saying it hasn’t reached infestation numbers yet. From what it sounds like, this is just one gate supplying the monsters, but if seven have crawled through already, the gate could become problematic when the infestation begins, regardless of past trends at that gate.”

There was a murmur of agreement and discussion turned to how the gate would be handled if it was the source of the problem. Through the arguments of whether they should even be discussing this yet since they didn’t know for sure if the gate was the problem, a soft voice spoke up.

“Has anyone considered human interference?” Darcy asked. The words were silky, smooth, crisp. Her voice was motherly, compassionate, seductive all at once. Otis wanted to live in her voice.

The siren song every time she spoke was one reason Darcy made Otis uneasy. She was too perfect. A beautiful voice, perfectly curled blonde hair, maraschino cherry red lipstick, brown doe eyes. She’d stepped out of a southern belle pin-up painting with her long off-white dress that looked like a garment from decades ago. A woman who could make anyone question their sexuality.

It wasn’t just her appearance that put Otis on edge. Darcy hadn’t grown up at Mid-Lant. People weren’t sure where she’d grown up, but there was no record of her at any M.H.A. division. Which made her skills and accomplishments that much more terrifying. In the eight months that she’d been here, Darcy earned respect from the highest authorities and earned a spot as one of Arthur’s counselors. She had no M.H.A. training and no history with the alliance, yet she could take down a man twice her size, and she’d climbed the ranks in mere months. There were rumors that she’d seduced her way into her position, but Otis didn’t believe that. And that just made her more terrifying.

Darcy received a collection of confused stares. Nyasha asked, “Dear, what do you mean?”

“Dr. Appleton mentioned that humans have been trying to close up the gates for years, but most attempts cause more harm than good,” Darcy said. “Perhaps this is an incidence of someone tampering with a gate.”

There was a silence as people mulled over her words. Dr Ginzburg said, “It’s a valid theory. If this turns out to be a problem with the gate, that’s an avenue we should look into.”

By the end of the meeting, Otis yearned for a nice place to rest. Sitting up was draining, as was talking and listening to arguments. When Arthur dismissed the meeting, Otis let out a heavy sigh of relief.

“Otis,” Precious said in his ear. He looked up to see her standing over him. “I’m glad Ierosi found you and saved you. I would’ve missed you. So many people would’ve.”

A heavy weight fell on Otis’s chest and he blinked. The sentiment was unexpected, and it touched him more than he cared to admit. He reached up and put his hand over her hand that resting on his shoulder, and lightly squeezed.

She leaned down and whispered, “You didn’t _say_ you were slacking off while tracking, but I know you well enough to bet you were. Stop being an idiot and look out for yourself better.”

When she stood up straight, Otis gave her a sheepish smile. She was reprimanding him like she was his mother, despite being four years his junior. And yet, a reprimand from her was more effective than from anyone else.

“Get better, you dummy,” Precious said and then followed her parents out of Hall Junior.

Dr. Appleton stopped beside Otis on her way out and said, “Otis, I have a student to tutor in a short while, so I must be going. Would you have someone bring the feather to my lab?”

“Yeah, sure,” Otis said. She turned to leave, and he said, “Wait! Will I get the feather back after?”

“Yes, of course,” Dr. Appleton nodded. “I want to study it and see if I can’t find a monster to match it. I’ll return it to you in pristine condition.”

“Thank you.”

“Be well, Otis. I’ll see you soon,” she said. With that, she left the library.

To Otis’s disappointment, Atticus had left the room while he was talking to Dr. Appleton. He wondered if his father would’ve stopped to talk to him if Cedric wasn’t there. The possibility sparked a flame of rage, but it was quickly smothered by Spencer entering the room.

“Hey, man,” Spencer grinned, leaning next to Otis’s chair against the walnut table. “How ya feelin’?”

“Tired and in need of a nap,” Otis said. He rested his arms against the table and looked up at Spencer.

Spencer was about five-foot-eight, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in muscle. The man was ripped. He helped Nyasha with training and teaching students how to build muscle and defend themselves. On top of that, he ran and worked out daily. Otis didn’t get it. Working out wasn’t his least favorite thing, but he’d never dream of working out as much as Spencer did. Way too much work.

When Spencer smiled, which he did a lot, the corners of his dark brown, monolid eyes would crinkle. He had the kind of smile that put people in a better mood. Otis was grumpy and hoping he’d never have to sit through another meeting like that again, but Spencer’s sunshine smile made him feel a bit better.

“Hey, Otis, I gotta get some stuff done, but I’ll see you later,” Cedric said, patting Otis’s shoulder as he wheeled past.

“See ya,” Otis said.

Arthur gave Otis and Spencer a curt nod as he left the room. They were the only people left in the library now, Spencer leaning back on the table, Otis sitting in the cushy arm chair.

“You gonna go take a nap now?” Spencer asked. “Or do you have enough energy to tell me about your near-death adventure?”

Spencer was one of Otis’s closest friends, an unexpected development over the past year. They’d always been friendly growing up; Spencer often joined the Hall boys in their make-believe games, falling between Cedric and Otis in age. He was twenty-two now, two years older than Otis. The age difference seemed much smaller now than it did in school, but it was enough of an age difference that Spencer could do things that Otis couldn’t. The blossoming of their friendship started after Otis asked Spencer to buy him some beer for a party. Spencer did so and kept the secret. Overtime, they grew closer.

“Ugh, if you were anyone else, I’d say no,” Otis said. “I’m tired of hearing myself talk.”

Spencer would get the most detailed version of the story. Otis could trust him with it.

“Want some help up?” Spencer asked, as Otis made a weak attempt to push the chair back from the table.

“Please,” Otis said.

Spencer pulled the chair back and then stood in front of it, bracing his arms in front of him. Otis gripped Spencer’s forearms and pulled himself up, Spencer holding steady.

“I think that was just an excuse to show off your muscles,” Otis said.

“Nah, I don’t need to show them off,” Spencer said.

“Yeah, because they’re about to rip open your shirt. Buy bigger clothes, dude.”

“Why?” Spencer asked, looking down. He flexed his pectorals individually, his nipples showing through the fabric. “This fits fine.”

“Oh, stop,” Otis said. He rolled his eyes and gave Spencer a light shove. Spencer laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll add tags that apply as the story progresses. It will eventually be nsfw but those chapters will be labelled.


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